Retire 430

430 The Mist of Mont Saint-Michel (3)

February, 2037.

France, Mont Saint-Michel Dungeon—“the Library.”

Before the first floor was cleared and the book-filled second and third floors were discovered, it wasn’t called a library. There was Noah Michel’s account of the lower floors, but at the time, it was the unverifiable testimony of a child.

Because of its indoor nature, immense size, and the grand, elaborate decorations, it was first called the Castle.

Mont Saint-Michel’s castle. The ballroom. The conservatory.

Those names didn’t last long. The first floor, with its trees, caused heavy casualties but was actually the quickest to be conquered. In fact, what was considered heavy casualties there would later seem minor.

In the end, the Mont Saint-Michel Dungeon’s nickname settled as the Library. Even if someone tried to change it now, the mages would never use a different name.

‘That book? I’m not a mage, so I don’t really know. But it’s probably not a dummy… I think.’

A young man whose hair changed color every time we met said this.

‘I really don’t know! You know that, right? I hardly ever go to France! Even if I do, I sneak in and out, so there’s no time to visit the Library…’

‘Was it that you didn’t want to go in?’

‘Hm?’

‘Not that they wouldn’t let you in?’

‘Uh… I never thought of it that way.’

‘And if you did think about it?’

‘…Noah probably didn’t want me to go into Mont Saint-Michel. No, she definitely didn’t want me to.’

The boy, who had been so lively and full of energy when we first met, remained unchanged as he grew older.

A different kind of scatterbrained youth also knew this. If you asked which of the two was easier to deal with… that’s a hard question.

Still, the latter did calm down a bit as he got older. He probably would continue to mellow out. I hoped so.

But the former would never grow older.

‘Ah, ah… What am I supposed to do now?’

The voice of a woman who couldn’t even cry properly still rang clear in my ears.

She was a genius credited with opening a new frontier in mana engineering. Always confident, always certain, as if there was nothing she couldn’t accomplish.

After losing her childhood friend and family, the woman fell into despair and never responded to any messages until the day she left for Mont Saint-Michel.

Hong Seokyoung understood her feelings and left her alone to grieve. Even if she gave up, he wouldn’t have tried to stop her. After all, it was the boy’s fault that she became entangled in all these complicated matters.

The decision to enter Mont Saint-Michel’s Library—a dungeon he’d never been fond of—was also largely because of that boy’s death.

He’d always thought he’d have to enter the Library someday. But he hadn’t expected it to be now. If the boy were still alive, he would have just coaxed him into scouting the dungeon instead.

But that path was closed forever. Even after persistent requests from the Association, he only gave his answer after that. His son had teased him, asking if he’d finally decided to get back to work…

But when he saw those steadfast eyes, so sure that he could never fail, he couldn’t say a word.

There was nothing to be done.

‘A father has to be invincible.’

……

Mont Saint-Michel’s Library. He had no intention of being buried here.

“Ugh, cough. Why is there so much dust? Did the old reports mention this?”

Before leaving the maze entirely, Hong Seokyoung checked the raid party. Beyond this point was uncharted territory. The monster guarding the fifth floor had been sighted, but its abilities were unknown. Twenty-five years ago, the French Hunters who had survived three months in the maze lost more than half their number in just five minutes of contact on the fifth floor.

A few years ago, Pharos Industries developed a mana detector.

France, upon acquiring the detector, immediately installed it in Mont Saint-Michel. The world’s oldest dungeon. The dungeon with the most deaths in the world.

The mana detector still read stable. But the reason France had assembled a new raid party after so long was to assess whether the dungeon could be cleared. This wasn’t some desert in the middle of nowhere—it was the heart of Europe. If the dungeon broke, who knew what might happen?

“At least this dust isn’t harmful. I wonder if the fifth floor is this dusty too?”

Hong Seokyoung looked at the powder on the ground, which seemed too heavy to be called dust. On the second and third floors, it would swirl up at every step, but this…

“Hong?”

“Rachel.”

Hong Seokyoung called out to an old comrade. The Hunter, who had been keeping a light tone, lowered her stance and gripped her weapon.

The others did the same. They were still in the relative safety of the maze, but in this unknown dungeon, no one truly let their guard down. Everyone was ready in an instant.

“This isn’t dust.”

Hong Seokyoung brushed the floor with his gloved hand. The dust clung thickly to the glove.

Rachel Bennett was a Hunter from Europe. At first, she’d thought it was just dust and ignored it, but…

“I missed it because of all the dust above.”

Bennett gritted her teeth. Hong Seokyoung didn’t blame her.

“We wandered in circles through the maze. If you hadn’t complained about the dust, I wouldn’t have noticed either.”

It was too substantial to be mere dust. Hong Seokyoung studied the fine, white, sand-like powder.

“Scales. From fairy wings.”

Even without him saying it, the raid party realized the truth. Most of them were European Hunters, after all.

“So the report about a fairy as the fifth-floor monster was true.”

“You didn’t believe it?”

“It’s not that… But if it’s here, does that mean it came up from below?”

“I didn’t feel anything in the maze.”

“The old French Hunters were attacked as soon as they descended to the fifth floor. It could be the same this time.”

“Too many people just get in the way against humanoids. We stick to the original plan. Everyone, check the maze map. If things go wrong, we’ll need to retreat that way.”

Hong Seokyoung gathered Rachel Bennett and three other Hunters. They were the so-called First Team, assembled to face the “fairy” of the fifth floor.

If it were a giant monster, that would be different, but for something human-sized like a fairy, it was better for a tight-knit group to fight. If dozens rushed in, they’d just end up attacking each other.

Hong Seokyoung brushed the scales from his glove and took the lead.

Fairies. Those damned things.

If only the dungeon core were right next to the stairs. Then they could smash it and run.

If that were the case, the dead boy would have told him long ago. Hong Seokyoung gave a bitter smile and shook his head. He’d always kept his distance, thinking the boy was unreliable, but if he’d known things would turn out like this, he would have gotten closer. At least then, he wouldn’t have let him die so pointlessly.

But his thoughts didn’t last long. There was no time for sentiment in a dungeon.

The stairs were as massive as the dungeon itself. Each step of the spiral staircase was etched with intricate patterns. The fourth floor had seemed as big as a city, but the fifth… Even after descending for quite some time, there was no end in sight. Only the white powder on the stairs grew thicker.

Twenty-five years ago, the French Hunters left vivid descriptions of the fifth-floor fairy.

The thrill of facing an angel glowing white in the darkness. Wings that, at a glance, seemed like a cloak. Covered in pure white down, the wings fluttered weakly, but when fully spread, they resembled the wings of a butterfly or moth. From head to toe, it was snow-white, but the wings were marked with black geometric patterns.

Its smooth skin was almost indistinguishable from a human’s, but it was not a form one could mistake for a person, wings aside. Its golden eyes, with no whites, shone like embedded jewels. Its hair, falling long like a cascade, was also white, but the ends were tinged black.

Below the elbows, golden and white tattoos—or perhaps patterns—shimmered. It was impossible to tell if they were tattoos or simply markings. They resembled the geometric patterns seen elsewhere in the dungeon, covering the hands down to the fingertips.

None of the French Hunters who entered here twenty-five years ago are alive today. A pity. If even one had survived, he would have sought them out before entering.

Still, the reports from that time were unusually thorough for European Hunters. Out of curiosity, he checked the author’s name. Nicolas de Funès. A name he’d never heard. Or perhaps, in his youth, he’d raided a dungeon with him once.

That man had written additional notes about the Mont Saint-Michel fairy.

‘Appears to be the same species as the fairy in the Alpine summit dungeon (the snowfield). Resembles a silkworm moth. Identical wing patterns.’

The Alpine dungeon report was attached as well. His son would have loved it.

As was typical of reports from that era, Funès’s account was filled with personal opinions.

‘In the Alps, our top priority was destroying the dungeon core. Great Mage Park Nogyeong assisted us. For Mont Saint-Michel, it is likely more feasible to find the dungeon core than to try to defeat the fifth-floor fairy. How to find the core without Great Mage Park is another matter entirely…’

Whoooo…

A wind blew. The thick layer of powder on the floor was swept aside. This time, it really rolled and tumbled like dust, gathering into clumps. At the same time, a sharp surge of mana swept in like smoke.

……

There were no footsteps. But if you listened closely, you could hear the faint rustling of cloth. The sound of wings.

Park Nogyeong.

It had been so long since he’d heard that name. Hong Seokyoung instinctively checked the small piece of metal hanging around his neck. An item as good as an extra life.

…!

Hong Seokyoung swung his arm on instinct. Something invisible struck his spear and bounced away. Thud! Something hit the wall. There was no time to check what it was. Another attack came flying.

“…Tch!”

Bennett’s head was severed. Hong Seokyoung gritted his teeth but didn’t look. In the darkness, someone glittered as if dusted with gold. Bare feet hovered in the air, and the patterns on its forearms shimmered in a kaleidoscopic array as it moved its hands.

Like a conductor playing a lullaby, its hands moved slowly, gracefully.

The fairy spoke. Not in some foreign tongue, but in Korean. In Korean.

<You’re a little late this time… Is this the first time we’ve met at this hour?>

Too late, the blood of his companion soaked his feet.

He knew instinctively.

…How could he avoid showing his daughter the dog tag? Maybe he should just get a piece of scrap metal and cut it up?

Well, that was only something to worry about if he made it out alive. Hong Seokyoung stared straight at the fairy—no, the monster—without flinching.